There’s something deeply unsettling about The Girl with the Needle, and that’s exactly the point. Magnus von Horn’s bleak, psychological horror-drama takes a horrifying chapter from history and transforms it into something between a fairy tale and a waking nightmare. Shot in striking black and white and anchored by a gut-wrenching performance from Vic Carmen Sonne, the film is both mesmerizing and emotionally draining. It’s a slow, methodical descent into horror—more arthouse than outright genre, but no less chilling because of it.
A Story Stitched in Darkness
Set in Copenhagen in 1919, The Girl with the Needle follows Karoline (Sonne), a woman left to fend for herself after her husband is presumed dead in World War I. Desperate, she finds work as a seamstress, begins a relationship with her boss Jørgen, and eventually becomes pregnant. But when her supposedly dead husband, Peter, returns home—scarred and broken—Karoline is thrown into chaos. With no means to care for her child, she turns to Dagmar (Trine Dyrholm), a seemingly kind woman who runs an underground adoption service for struggling mothers.
What follows is a slow-burn horror built on quiet dread. At first, Dagmar’s operation appears to be a lifeline, offering salvation to Karoline in the form of work as a wet nurse. But there’s something off about the whole setup—Dagmar’s eerie calm, the unsettling atmosphere of the candy shop where the babies are kept, and the strange little girl, Erena, who clings to Karoline like a ghost from another life.
And then, the reveal comes. Karoline, horrified, discovers that Dagmar isn’t rehoming the babies—she’s murdering them. The film takes its time getting here, allowing a creeping unease to build before shattering any illusions of hope. From that moment, The Girl with the Needle shifts into something even more disturbing, as Karoline becomes trapped in Dagmar’s world, drugged into submission with ether and complicit in horrors she can’t escape.
Vic Carmen Sonne Holds It All Together
At the center of this grim spiral is Vic Carmen Sonne, whose performance is nothing short of devastating. Karoline is neither a typical victim nor a hero—she’s complicated, messy, and deeply human. Her desperation is palpable, her loneliness suffocating, and as she becomes more entangled in Dagmar’s nightmare, we see her slipping between guilt, horror, and reluctant survival instinct. Sonne’s ability to communicate so much through silence—through haunted stares, hesitant movements, and fleeting moments of warmth—is what keeps the film emotionally grounded.
Trine Dyrholm as Dagmar is equally remarkable, delivering a chilling performance that’s as hypnotic as it is terrifying. She plays Dagmar not as a sadistic monster, but as someone who believes in what she’s doing. There’s a warped logic to her philosophy—one that makes her even more disturbing. Her maternal tenderness toward Karoline makes her all the more dangerous; she isn’t just a murderer, but a woman who has convinced herself that killing is an act of mercy.
A Beautifully Crafted Nightmare
Visually, The Girl with the Needle is stunning. Shot in stark, high-contrast black and white, the cinematography by cinematographer Michał Dymek (EO) feels like something out of a fever dream. Shadows stretch across cramped rooms, candlelight flickers ominously, and every frame is dripping with dread. There’s an almost gothic quality to the way von Horn and his team construct this world—it feels like it exists outside of time, trapped in its own macabre reality.
The production design is equally impressive. Dagmar’s candy shop, filled with jars of sweets and the promise of comfort, is an eerie contradiction—a place meant to bring joy but hiding unimaginable horrors. The film’s use of textures—Karoline’s threadbare clothes, the dampness of the city, the suffocating ether haze—adds to its immersive quality.
The sound design is another crucial piece of the film’s unsettling puzzle. The lull of Karoline’s breathing, the hushed voices, the distant cries of unseen babies—it’s all designed to make you feel uneasy. The score, sparse and eerie, creeps in at just the right moments, never overwhelming the film’s already heavy atmosphere.
A Slow Burn That Might Test Your Patience
If The Girl with the Needle has a flaw, it’s in its pacing. The film takes its time—sometimes too much time—allowing scenes to linger long past their breaking point. This slow, hypnotic rhythm works in its favor when it comes to tension-building, but there are stretches where the film threatens to lose momentum. The deliberate pacing might frustrate some viewers, especially those expecting a more conventional horror structure.
The film also leaves certain elements frustratingly ambiguous. Karoline’s journey from victim to survivor is compelling, but her emotional transformation is somewhat muted in the final act. While the ending offers a glimmer of catharsis—Karoline escaping Dagmar’s grip and adopting Erena—it doesn’t hit as powerfully as it should, perhaps because the film spends so much time in dread that it forgets to fully explore its protagonist’s emotional resolution.
Final Verdict: Grim, Gorgeous, and Unsettlingly Effective
The Girl with the Needle is not an easy film to watch. It’s brutal, emotionally exhausting, and refuses to offer any real comfort. But it’s also beautifully crafted, superbly acted, and lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. Magnus von Horn has created something that feels like a waking nightmare—a slow, suffocating descent into horror that, at its best, recalls the psychological intensity of The Witch or Saint Maud.
This is not a film for everyone. Its slow pacing and relentless bleakness make it a challenging watch, and it doesn’t offer the kind of catharsis or satisfaction that many horror films do. But for those who can stomach its heavy subject matter, it’s an impressively crafted piece of filmmaking that blends historical horror with deeply human tragedy.